Chaos Comes To Kent

by Jann Rowland

  “I hope you enjoyed the sermon, Mr. Darcy,” said the parson, stepping forward and confronting the man, though his form was a little hunched as usual. “I chose today’s subject with the party at Rosings in mind specifically.”

  Miss de Bourgh continued to beam, but Mr. Darcy only looked at the foolish man with something akin to contempt. “It was . . . curious, Mr. Collins. I attend Easter services every year and have done so many times in this very church. In all of them, however, the subject has been our Lord. Duty seems like a common enough subject that it may be spoken of on any Sunday.”

  “Perhaps you are correct, Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Collins, his darting glance at Miss de Bourgh confirming Elizabeth’s earlier suspicion. “But I fancy I am inspired to know what is best for my congregation to hear on any Sunday, and I thought duty would be the most appropriate today.”

  It was clear that Mr. Darcy was not insensible to Mr. Collins’s meaning, but at that moment Lady Catherine interjected into the conversation. “In the future, Mr. Collins, perhaps we should adhere to the usual practices of sermon making and speak of the subjects approved by the church?”

  Though Mr. Collins could hardly have missed the displeasure in his patroness’s tone, he only bowed and said: “Of course, your ladyship. Next Easter I am certain there will be no need to speak of duty. I flatter myself that my words today have planted a seed, one which will grow to bear beautiful fruit.”

  “Yes, Mr. Collins,” said Lady Catherine, “you do flatter yourself.”

  The gentlemen nearby—particularly Colonel Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth’s father—seemed to be choking on their tongues in an effort not to laugh, but somehow they managed it. For herself, if Elizabeth might have felt like laughing herself, had she not been quite annoyed with both Mr. Collins and Miss de Bourgh. Mr. Darcy only looked at Mr. Collins, much the same way that one might look at an ant when contemplating whether to step on it. The man himself just preened, not understanding his patroness’s jibe.

  “Now,” continued Lady Catherine, “if you will all come along, we shall retire to Rosings.”

  “Of course, Lady Catherine!” exulted Mr. Collins. “Your ladyship is so kind to be continually thinking of us. I can imagine no greater privilege than to spend the day at Rosings, basking in the glory of your kind—”

  The man would have continued in such a way all the way to Rosings, Elizabeth was certain, but he was silenced when Lady Catherine turned a glare on him. He dropped back and offered to escort Mary, who took his arm, though with a discernable lack of enthusiasm. Elizabeth had not seen her sister in several days; she wondered if Mary’s interest in her suitor was waning as much as it seemed.

  While Mr. Collins was thus engaged, Lady Catherine turned her attention back to those remaining. Elizabeth, standing beside Mr. Darcy as she was, noted the speculative look she bestowed on them all, and the nod she gave when everything was arranged to her satisfaction. Elizabeth suspected her ladyship of preferring her to pair with Mr. Darcy and Jane with Colonel Fitzwilliam, but as she was quite happy with the arrangement herself, Elizabeth did not make an issue of it.

  They were just about to set out when her ladyship’s attention was called by a tenant who was standing by the side of the path, and she turned to him and began speaking in hushed tones. Miss de Bourgh, who had been standing beside her mother, turned, and her eyes alighted on Mr. Darcy, a disturbing gleam shining from within. But before she could move, another decided to stamp her authority on the company.

  “Jane, what are you doing?” Mrs. Bennet bustled up and grasped her arm, tugging her over to where Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth stood. “Mr. Darcy, if you would be so good as to escort Jane. She is not the walker that Lizzy is and will require your assistance.”

  “But, Mama, it is not far,” gasped Jane.

  “Nonsense, Jane. You will stay here and walk with Mr. Darcy.”

  The matter settled in her mind, Mrs. Bennet turned, and Elizabeth soon found herself the recipient of her mother’s determination.

  “Now, Lizzy, you will walk with Colonel Fitzwilliam.” She all but dragged Elizabeth to the man and then simpered at him. “My Lizzy is an excellent walker. I am certain a military man such as yourself will find her exuberance charming.”

  Then Mrs. Bennet returned to her husband’s side, her smugness covering her like an umbrella. Mr. Bennet, for his part, was watching the display and smirking, looking like he had never had so much fun in his life. At that moment, Elizabeth almost hated her father.

  “Now, Anne,” said Lady Catherine, her conference at an end, “shall we lead our guests back to Rosings?”

  It was then that Lady Catherine seemed to notice that the situation was not as she left it. She seemed to decide there was nothing she could do, so she began to walk with her daughter, though Miss de Bourgh looked longingly back at where Jane was being escorted by Mr. Darcy.

  “Tell me, Miss Elizabeth,” said the colonel in a low tone when they had walked for some minutes. “Is my arm somehow insufficient for Miss Bennet’s support? She has never complained about it before.”

  “Only the very best for my dearest sister, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” said Elizabeth, arching an eyebrow at him. “At least in mother’s eyes, there can be no compromise when it comes to Jane.”

  “Ah, cut to the quick!” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, putting a hand over his heart. “To think that I am merely second best. How shall I ever bear the shame?”

  “Lizzy!” Elizabeth cringed at the sound of her mother’s shriek. “Do not carry on with your impertinent ways! You are offending the colonel.”

  Colonel Fitzwilliam winked at Elizabeth, and he stopped and waited for Mr. Darcy and Jane, who were walking behind, to draw close. “Indeed, you are correct, Mrs. Bennet. I am offended. I am offended to be considered less than sufficient to escort your eldest daughter.

  “But I am determined to improve myself, to show you that I am quite as capable as my cousin. And as Miss Elizabeth assures me that there is nothing lacking in me, I must insist on escorting Miss Bennet.”

  And stepping forward, the colonel offered his arm to Jane, which she took readily, though not without an apologetic look at Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth only glared at the colonel, knowing that her mother would interpret the scene as her offending the man. But before she could say anything, Mr. Darcy stepped forward and offered Elizabeth his arm, which she willingly accepted. They started off again, following Colonel Fitzwilliam. From behind her, Elizabeth heard what sounded suspiciously like a snort of laughter from her father, and her mother’s huff of displeasure.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy as they walked. “Is it naught but my imagination, or does your mother seem to be intent on pairing your sister with me and you with my cousin?”

  “That would seem to be the case, Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth.

  “How very unfortunate.”

  Elizabeth peered at him, wondering what he was saying. Mr. Darcy seemed to recognize, for he said: “It is just that I have no intention of allowing myself to be turned to Miss Bennet. She is a lovely woman, but I have no romantic interest in her.”

  “Oh?” asked Elizabeth. “Then I suppose Colonel Fitzwilliam will be vastly relieved by your confession.”

  “I am certain he already knows,” replied Mr. Darcy. “I have made my preferences amply known.”

  Elizabeth colored but she stayed silent. It was not, after all, a declaration of any kind. But she could not help but feel warmed by it.

  Luncheon was served soon after the party arrived at Rosings, and after, they separated for a time, each to his own preferred activity. Elizabeth walked out to the hedge maze in the back gardens and made her way to the center to think for a time, while the gentlemen retired to the billiard room—without Mr. Collins, of course. The parson stayed in Lady Catherine’s sitting-room with Mary, and Mrs. Bennet and Lady Catherine sat in that same room chatting. Mr. Bennet retired to the library, and the younger girls went to their rooms, where the
y did whatever young ladies do when they have nothing to do on a Sunday afternoon.

  Later that afternoon they all gathered back together once again, and it was there that they were all treated to a spectacle of Biblical proportions. Ennui had set in to a certain extent, and especially the younger girls were complaining for something to keep them occupied.

  “Why do we not read one of Shakespeare’s plays?” asked Lydia.

  “Yes!” exclaimed Kitty, excitement coloring her voice. “We could read one of the comedies.”

  “Or perhaps Romeo and Juliet,” suggested Lydia. Then she sighed. “It is so romantic that they love each other enough that each cannot live without the other.”

  “Yes, but who gets to play the star-crossed lovers who die in the end?” asked Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth shared a smile with him.

  “How about Mr. Collins and Miss Elizabeth?” said Anne, not quite sotto voce.

  Mr. Bennet raised his book to hide a chuckle, while Lady Catherine glared at her daughter with exasperation. For her part, Elizabeth only grinned at Miss de Bourgh’s suggestion, prompting an even more sullen expression on the part of Miss de Bourgh.

  “On the contrary,” interjected Colonel Fitzwilliam, “we should read A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

  “At least you have your happy ending,” replied Mr. Darcy. “But would you prefer the role of Lysander or Demetrius?”

  “Either ends up with his lady love, so it would not matter,” said the colonel. Elizabeth did not miss his steady gaze at Jane while he was speaking, and neither did Jane.

  “But since Demetrius follows Lysander, intending to kill him, perhaps A Midsummer Night’s Dream is not the best,” said Elizabeth. The two gentlemen laughed, accompanied by Mr. Bennet’s chuckle.

  “Then what of Much Ado About Nothing?” asked Mr. Bennet.

  “You would need to be Claudio and I would be Benedick,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam, looking at his cousin.

  Mr. Darcy frowned. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because, old boy, I am further along than you are.”

  “I have been acquainted with the Bennets much longer than you have,” replied Mr. Darcy.

  “Perhaps, but you are still working your way through your feelings and the initial manner in which you met. I have no such reservations.”

  By this point Elizabeth was blushing fiercely, and she knew that Jane was in similar straits. Unfortunately, such literary references were not Mrs. Bennet’s forte, and she broke in at exactly the wrong moment.

  “You have no reservations, Colonel?”

  “No, madam. None at all.”

  Mrs. Bennet stared at him, a slow smile slipping over her face. Mr. Bennet watched his wife, and Elizabeth was certain he was seeing the same thing as Elizabeth herself—Mrs. Bennet was quite mixed up as to who was paying court to whom. Unfortunately, Elizabeth’s experience with her mother told her that she would not be easily persuaded to the right way of things

  “Perhaps instead we should turn to opera,” said Miss de Bourgh. “Then we could read Così fan tutte. I am certain the Miss Bennets would play the roles of Fiordiligi and Dorabella admirably.”

  “Anne!” snapped Lady Catherine, glaring at her daughter. All about the room, those who understood her reference were mimicking the lady’s expression. Elizabeth was certain that her father was on the verge of castigating the woman, and her cousins appeared ready to throttle her.

  “Do not say such things. Do you not recall that these people are our guests?”

  Miss de Bourgh did not say anything in response, but her expression was mutinous as she looked away. Mr. Darcy, watching her as he was, appeared furious with her, though he did not speak directly to her to censure her.

  “Perhaps it would be best to leave both play and opera alone,” said he.

  Lady Catherine eyed her daughter, and then turned her scrutiny to Mr. Darcy, before she nodded her head slowly. “I believe you may be correct, Darcy.” She turned to Elizabeth. “Perhaps you would favor us with a few songs on the pianoforte, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “Of course,” said Elizabeth, “though I would not wish to excite your anticipation. You may have heard me from time to time these past days. I am not a proficient.”

  “What I heard sounded lovely,” said Lady Catherine. Then she turned to Mary, who was eager at the suggestion that the pianoforte be opened. “I understand you play as well, Miss Mary. As I understand that your sister is not disposed to playing more than a few songs, perhaps you would allow her to play first, after which you may play to your heart’s content.”

  For perhaps the first time in Elizabeth’s memory, Mary did not immediately agree and hurry to the instrument. Instead, she paused for a moment and then said: “Your ladyship is too kind. I would be happy to play, but I will only play a few pieces like Elizabeth.”

  “That is acceptable,” said Lady Catherine. She turned to Mr. Darcy as Elizabeth was rising, saying: “Perhaps you would care to turn the pages for Miss Elizabeth? Then when Miss Mary takes her turn, Mr. Collins may take up the office.”

  “Certainly,” said Mr. Darcy.

  At the same time, Mrs. Bennet gasped, clearly wishing she had thought of pairing Colonel Fitzwilliam with Elizabeth at the pianoforte. Elizabeth noted with amusement, as she looked through the music, that her mother glared at Lady Catherine, but the lady either did not notice, or took the simple expedient of ignoring her.

  Within a few moments, Elizabeth, having chosen a piece of music she thought well within her capabilities, began to play. The music soothed as it washed over her, and though she thought she had suppressed her emotions well, she had been just as angry at Miss de Bourgh for her spiteful comment as any of the gentlemen. Focusing on the music allowed her to regain her composure and put the comment in perspective, namely that it was a tactless comment by a bitter and jealous woman.

  As she played, she became ever more aware of Mr. Darcy’s presence. The man was quick to turn the pages in the right places, proving that he was able to read the music, and she was allowed to play unimpeded. But the longer she sat next to him, the more aware she became of him. He was a large man, broad-shouldered, and as handsome as any man she had ever met, and he was doing her the singular honor of paying the most exquisite attention to her. Elizabeth was not certain what she felt for him at this stage of their acquaintance, but she knew she had never been indifferent to him. He had always provoked some response from her, negative in the beginning, but increasingly positive the longer she knew him. She could not imagine that it would not continue to become even more positive the longer they were acquainted.

  “Miss Elizabeth,” said he in a quiet voice when Elizabeth had begun her second song. “Please allow me to apologize for my cousin’s mean-spirited words. I cannot tell you how mortified I was.”

  “Do not trouble yourself, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth. “I was not unaffected by them I confess, but you have nothing for which to apologize.”

  “Nothing I have done, of course. But her actions are motivated by jealousy as I am sure you know.”

  “Your aunt has mentioned something of it to me. I can hardly imagine a woman behaving in such a manner for the benefit of a man who does not favor her.”

  “And yet she does,” replied Mr. Darcy. “I will be required to speak with her again, though the last time I did so it did not change anything. But I will not allow her to continue to insult you or your sister in such a way.”

  Elizabeth felt warmed all over by this new evidence of Mr. Darcy’s regard. She turned to him and allowed her gaze to inform him of her returning regard. It was apparent that he received her message, for he smiled at her, and then reached up to turn the page yet again.

  They sat thus until Elizabeth finished playing the second piece. When completed, she gracefully excused herself from the pianoforte, noting with some amusement that though Mary had refrained from imposing upon her hostess, she was still eager to play. Elizabeth squeezed her sister’s
hand as they neared each other, and stepped aside for Mary to go to the pianoforte.

  When she turned, she was confronted by the sight of Mr. Collins, standing tall—though with that ever-present hunch in his shoulders—glaring at her. “It seems, Cousin that you still have not learned your place.”

  “Her place is secure, Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Darcy, stepping forward to confront the man. “You should remember yours. Miss Elizabeth is a gentleman’s daughter, and as her father is in the room and has not objected to anything she has done, there is nothing for you to say. Miss Mary is waiting for you at the pianoforte, sir. I suggest you attend her.”

  Then without waiting for Mr. Collins’s response, Mr. Darcy grasped Elizabeth’s elbow and directed her to their previous seats on the sofa. Elizabeth did not look back at the man, so it was unclear to her what his reaction was, but she found that she did not concern herself with his opinion. The man was a buffoon; if Mary was actually induced to accept him, she would pity her sister.

  “You are far too modest,” said Lady Catherine when they had taken their seats. “It seems to me that you are quite talented, Miss Elizabeth. You play with a feel for the music which is rarely seen, and from my unpracticed eye, it seems like you have a very good notion of fingering.”

  “Your ladyship is too kind. I believe if I took the trouble to practice more I would be able to display my talents to greater effect. Alas, there are always so many other activities calling me that I rarely practice as much as I should.”

  “That I can understand,” said Lady Catherine with a laugh. “I am always flitting from one pastime to the next, for there are so many things I enjoy, and so much to be done. My sister was a delightful performer.”

  Their attention was caught at that moment when Mary stumbled a little over the notes. Though Elizabeth had often thought Mary’s playing was a little pedantic, she was technically proficient, and such a stumble was noteworthy. On the heels of this misstep, Elizabeth could hear her hiss: “Turn the page now, Mr. Collins!”

  A quick glance at the pianoforte showed Mr. Collins clumsily turning the page, bumping into Mary as he did so, causing her to stumble again. “Only one!”